More Behind the Eyes
by Sacharissa Donerail
Summary: Harry wonders what Snape sees when he looks at him. The answer is not what he expects.


Title: More Behind the Eyes

Author: Sacharissa Donerail

Rating: PG-13ish

Content: adult language, talk of m/m (underage)

Pairings: SS/HP, mentions of SS/DM and LM/SS

Notes: Written approximately 3 years ago. Takes place somewhere between OotP and HBP.

Title comes from the A Perfect Circle song, "3 Libras"

What do you see when you look at me?

I find myself wondering this when I catch your eyes lingering on me for longer than they should. I shift and fidget because it makes me uncomfortable. Your eyes have a way of looking through me, and I don't like feeling so exposed and vulnerable. When I was younger, I didn't mind, but now it feels like an intrusion, and no one should know me as well as you do when I barely seem to know myself.

So what is it that you find so bloody interesting about me?

Is it my scar? That damn scar that makes people I've never met gasp and stare in awe and astonishment? Am I just a scar to you? Do you hate the fact that the one you used to serve gave it to me? I can still remember how it burned and ached the first time I saw you. It told me then something that you would have liked for me to never have known. Your dirty little secret was the only thing you couldn't keep from me. It seems time hasn't changed that. All I do know about you is that the mark on your arm means you were at one time in His service. Other than that, you're as much a mystery to me today as you were six years ago, despite the fact that I've revealed myself to you and let you know the deepest secrets of my heart without ever expecting anything in return.

And I've damn sure never gotten anything.

Do you see my father when you look at me? Everyone tells me how much I look like him and my mother both, but is it particularly painful for you to look at me and see some piece of him staring back at you? I know there was more between you than just some stupid prank. You've never told me, but I know. Sometimes you get distracted, and I know that you're seeing him instead of me. What did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Did he break your heart? Did you really have a crush on my mother and had to watch as he stole her away forever? I'll never know because you wouldn't breathe a word of it to me and he is dead so he can't. I'm not sure I'd really like to know anyway.

Am I just another student in those cold, black eyes of yours? Just another name on a long list of students who have wandered into your classroom terrified and ignorant to the ways of magic, and wandered out even more terrified of you but slightly more skilled? Just another paper to grade or potion to assess? You look at everyone else around me, too, but not the way you look at me. Do they notice how you watch me, that almost possessive yet detatched way you focus on me as though there isn't anyone else around?

I know Malfoy does, and I take some small measure of gratification knowing that he hates it.

I can't even begin to imagine what sort of twisted relationship you have with either of the Malfoys, but I suppose I'm not meant to understand such things. You would tell me to mind my business if I asked, so I don't. I ignore the way Draco looks at you, and I push any thoughts of you with Lucius Malfoy out of my head because I think you probably loved the father in the same way you now love the son. I've heard whisperings about Draco being a play thing for the Death Eaters, so you've probably...been with him on at least one occasion. The way you two are around each other in public is a good indication of how you are in private. I don't suspect that you're now sleeping with him, but it honestly wouldn't surprise me if you were.

You and I have never made a formal commitment to each other, so there isn't anything to stop you from ravaging him senseless the way you do me. I couldn't dream of being with anyone since I've been with you, but sometimes I wonder if you have other visitors to your bedchambers once the night falls. Mostly I worry about Draco because I know how ruthless he is when there's something that he wants. Do you open up and tell him things about yourself? Does he know you better than I do? That's worse than knowing if you allow him into your bed after I've just left it. I can deal with him having your body, but him having access to your mind and heart is too much for me to handle.

I think I deserve those things, but you simply won't give them to me, no matter how much I beg.

You're afraid of being hurt again. I can understand that, but I can't understand you thinking that I would ever do anything like to you. You tell me again and again that I'm "just a child." Even children know what it means to hurt and ache because of some past wrong. I'm not as young as you think I am, and you're not as old as you pretend to be. You don't have to be old to be jaded. Try living for six years with people breathing down your neck about being a savior and this great and wonderful thing when all you want to do is grow up and enjoy your youth like everyone else. Then you can talk to me about being jaded.

But when you look at me, you don't see any of that, do you? You see James Potter's son, a random student with a scar who sleeps in your bed curled up around you. You see my naked skin trembling under your touch and my lips as they whisper your name. Or am I wrong? Do you seem something else entirely?

Would you like to know what I see when I look at you? It's not a greasy Potions master or a Death Eater. I see someone that I could very possibly be in love with, which is strange because I don't even know you. I only know what everyone else does, and yet I love you all the same. I see empty black eyes staring at me, but I see nothing behind them. You've never given me any indication that there is anything else to see anyway. Was it always that way? Were you always empty? Or did something suck the life right out of you? Is that why you're so cold and withdrawn?

And you're staring at me now as I lay in your arms, our perspiration-glazed skin pressed together and our legs tangled with one another. You're watching me like you always do, as though you're waiting for my next move so you can calculate your repsonse to it. One step ahead of me always.

"What do you see when you look at me, Severus?" My question is finally voiced, and I find myself afraid of your answer.

You blink your eyes slowly and answer, no discernable tone in your voice.

"Myself."

THE END


End file.
